come back
by kardamon
Summary: At the time of plague Ross' exhausted mind is haunted by cruel dreams.
1. Prologue

**Sooo, it happened. I did it. I started a Poldark fic. Not my usual cup of tea, but we'll how it goes.**

 **Just so you know, English is not my first language, so I apologise in advance for all mistakes I'm doomed to make.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Poldark.**

 **No beta :(**

* * *

Prologue:

 _There is no cure for putrid throat. All you can do is pray._

His friend's words echoed in his mind as he sat in the dark house, torn between watching over his wife and his daughter.

So he prayed. Ross Poldark wasn't the most religious of men, but that night he prayed like he had never before in his life – though with every passing, torturous hour it was becoming more and more clear that what he was really praying for, was a miracle.


	2. 1

**After the teasery-prologue, here is the chapter:**

* * *

 _Dreams like the castles that sleep in the sand -  
Medhel an gwyns, medhel an gwyns -  
Slipped through the fingers or held in the hand -  
Medhel, oh, medhel an gwyns_

 _..._

Standing in the middle of the chaos that Hendrawna Beach had become, Ross thought that must have been what hell looked like. There he was, a broken man tortured by pain and grief, sick of fear of another loss looming over him, driven mad by his own helplessness, almost delirious from the lack of sleep – in the midst of darkness, fire and death. He stood frozen on a spot, stunned by the sight of savage violence, so mindless and merciless. The stormy weather mixed with the smoke and nightfall made for a thick, opaque darkness and he felt like he was swimming beneath the surface of the muddy water.

Someone's angry cry made him flinch helping him to avoid collision with two fighting men at the last possible second. He hastily took a few steps aside and then wobbled when he noticed the body sprawled on the ground, barely in time to step over it. He looked around wildly, expecting a blow from any direction. Everything seemed hazy, like in a feverish dream.

Suddenly, he heard a cry that stood out from the cacophony of sounds and made him take notice despite it drowning almost immediately in a dozen of others: a child's cry.

By God, was there a child lost out there?

He strained his hearing trying to focus and catch it again so he could find its source. He thought he heard it again, fading and then coming back, slipping away from the range of his ears. The sound was cutting through him, so he started walking blindly, following his instincts.

For a moment the cry grew louder and a shiver ran down Ross's spine. He found himself hesitating and almost halting his steps.

It couldn't be…

Still, his heart jumped madly in his chest at the sound of the infant's wail, even when his brain was telling his it was a cruel hallucination that was making it appear oddly familiar to him.

It didn't matter, though. Whoever the child was, it needed help, and his own nightmare should not be an obstacle for him to provide it. He sobered at the thought ant picked up his speed again, determined to find the child. No one else should suffer like he did. No children should be lost.

He maneuvered his way through the mob, still unable to catch a sight of his aim.

Suddenly, the crowd parted and for a second he saw her: clenched fists, swollen eyes, face red from crying…

" _Julia_ ," he breathed.

Joy, pain, disbelief, confusion and savage, irrational hope swirled inside him, making his head swimming.

He knew it was impossible. He was seeing things. There was no way this was true…

…he could not let it go without checking, without making sure. He had to try.

He rushed forward, his legs carrying him forward without a conscious thought on his part. He lost the sight of the small figure when the next dark shape hid her from his view again, and he felt himself panicking, scared to death that he wouldn't be able to find her again.

"Julia!" he called pushing through the people.

He followed her voice, desperately clinging to the sound of it. He felt like he was running in circles, but then, finally, he caught a glimpse of her again in the distance.

"Julia!"

He almost leapt, his legs moving as fast as they could, all the time terrified that she would disappear.

She didn't.

He got to her and sank to his knees to take her into his arms, more than half-expecting to grasp at the empty air, and crushed her to his chest. His heart pounded.

God Almighty.

It was her. His sweet girl, his beautiful, precious daughter. She was warm and alive, if scared and crying.

"I've got you," he said trying to sooth her, but his voice broke. "Shhhh, I'm here. You're safe."

He didn't understand how she was there, but it didn't matter. As long as he could hold her, nothing else mattered. He didn't want to know.

He rocked back and forth hugging her to his body, outside world forgotten. All he could do was kiss her head and murmur gibberish reassurances as he was completely lost in the moment.

 _…_ _Good God, Ross!…_

He more felt it than heard when someone came near them and instinctively tensed, tightening his hold on the child, who was just beginning to calm down.

"Captain Ross Poldark?" asked a sharp voice.

He looked up startled to see his old army commander standing over him. Didn't he die in America, though? Ross couldn't quite remember and something about that made him uneasy. He looked around to see a few more soldiers waiting for orders.

"Yes?" he said keeping his voice steady.

"It was with great regret for me to hear that you are wanted for the crimes you have committed. We've been informed that you are guilty of several offences. We're here to deliver justice." Then he turned toward his underlings and said: "Take the girl."

"What?! No! No, leave her alone! She has nothing to do with this!" he started screaming when he felt several hands grabbing him and forcibly keeping him down and prying his arms open to rip his daughter out of them. "Don't touch her! She's innocent! She's just a child, don't you see that? Julia!"

"I'm really sorry, Ross, but there is nothing I can do."

"No! Please, God, no! Don't take her away!"

He heard her crying miserably again when they took her away and he fought with all his strength, but he was failing. Despair filled him as he saw her being carried away from him.

"Please," he said, no longer ashamed to beg. "Please don't do this. Take me instead."

Then he heard a chuckle so sinister it froze the blood in his veins. The old soldier's face morphed into a strange mask and suddenly Ross saw with horror that it was rotting. He was staring at the corpse.

"Oh," said the dead-man. "We will take you."

* * *

Ross woke up with a start, his breathing labored and his body clammy. His throat was burning, as if he had been screaming, and his head was pounding. He opened his eyes disoriented only to discover he was staring at the ceiling in a darkened room.

He was at Nampara.

His arms were empty.

* * *

 **I feel like I can leave it as a one-shot but it's not so hard to imagine other dreams like that, so I might add them some time depending on how you feel about going down this path, so please let me know if you're interested in reading more of this story.**


	3. 2

**Thanks for everyone who reviewed!**

 **There is not much dialogue, but sorry for the lack of accent - since I'm no expert, I decided in most cases it's better not to use it than to mess it up. I'm open to suggestions of how to remedy that, though.**

* * *

It was warm, hot even.

 _A summer day_ , Ross thought.

He felt a gentle, ticklish touch on his face and he was overcome by a faint scent of soap and wildflowers. It made him think of the sun, the breeze from the see, and clean sheets freshly put on the bed after drying out in the wind.

 _…Ross!_

Someone was singing softly.

He knew that voice. Beautiful, beautiful voice. Dearest voice in the world.

 _…Dreams like the memories once born on the wind –…_

He sighed and his eyelids fluttered.

 _… Medhel an gwyns, medhel an gwyns…_

His eyes cracked open and his vision filled with a stray lock of red hair moving on the wind and brushing against his cheek as if in a caress. He smiled and turned his head to bury his nose in the mass of coppery curls.

" _Demelza_ ," he whispered.

He opened his eyes wider and saw her smiling face only inches apart from his own, her eyes bright and clear, the same colour as the sea under the cloudless sky.

… _Ross, can you hear me?…_

They lay side by side on the meadow, high grass full of poppies and cornflowers hiding them from the outside world. The air was so permeated with the scent of honey and herbs, he could almost taste it on his tongue.

… _drink this_ …

He eagerly leaned forward to close the gap between them and pressed his lips against hers.

" _Ross_. You're awake," she said quietly breaking the kiss. She reached with her fingers to touch the side of his face lightly and he turned his head to lean into her hand.

"I am," he agreed, a smile in his voice. He returned to kissing her unhurriedly and then rolled on the top of her, pinning her to the ground, without getting a single sign of protest from her.

He felt perfectly happy and at peace in this little world, soaked with sunlight and love.

"I wish we could stay like this forever," he mused lazily.

Demelza frowned for the first time.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Sorry? Sorry for what?" he asked still unalarmed.

"I can't."

"Can't what?"

She didn't answer and suddenly, he saw a shadow across her face. He turned around and sat up to face the figure that had casted it, only to see Elisabeth standing nearby on the meadow, her petite figure somehow managing to block the view of the sun. He couldn't see her face, only the dark outline of her figure, but he would have recognized that silhouette anywhere.

"She can't stay," Elisabeth's voice was sad.

He felt a chill running down his spine and he noticed the weather was changing. The sun hid behind the cloud, taking away the golden glow the meadow had been basked in.

"Why not?"

"I'm afraid they won't last." He stared at her cluelessly until she explained: "Your family. See, they're fading already."

"What?"

Alarmed, he looked down quickly and felt the dread settle in his stomach.

" _Demelza?_ "

He saw the colour draining from her cheeks in front of his very eyes and being replaced with a sickly hue. She was no longer smiling as her lips turned dry and chapped. She had dark circles under her closed eyed and she was pale as the dead.

"Cornflowers are like that."

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

Not her. Not like that.

He gathered his wife in his arms helplessly trying to rouse her.

"… _my love…_ please…"

She didn't stir and he felt panic gripping him like a vice.

"Help me!" he yelled desperately at Elisabeth but when he whipped his head to look at her he saw that she too, was gone. The wind was picking up and the sky darkened, but the meadow was empty. The storm was coming. "Somebody help me!"

The ground shook from his cry like after the explosion in the mine and then the world shattered.

… _Medhel, oh, medhel an gwyns_.

* * *

 **Don't keep me guessing! Seriously, guys - I noticed some faint signs of _plot_ sneaking in, so there is a chance for more, but I need to know if there is a point in trying to wrestle it.**


	4. 3

**Something a little different this time.**

* * *

"Are you afraid of the death, Ross Poldark?"

He turned around startled to look at the stranger asking him.

"I was a soldier. I'm used to death," he said.

"That's not what I asked," he thought he saw a hint of a smile on the face hidden from his view by the deep hood shadowing it almost completely. Then the man ordered: "Come."

Without question, he squeezed the sides of the horse with his thighs and followed his mysterious companion uphill. They stopped at the top where two other silent figures were already awaiting them.

"Look," he heard and he obeyed, looking down the cliff. Instead of the see he saw the images of lands and people, so clear as if he was standing close by, and yet watching from a great distance.

 _Not lands_ , he thought looking closer and recognizing Cornish landscape. _Just my land._

He saw men at each other's throats, the riots, soldiers firing their weapon and blood spilled. Were his former comrades among them?

He saw miners starving, fighting to death for a scrap of food, like wild dogs. A villager hung for poaching in the rich lord's woods, caught in a desperate act of providing for his family.

He saw prisoners in their dark cells, alone and hopeless, falling victims to the disease. He saw people dying alone and the whole families.

He saw his Demelza lying on the bed in the room lit by a single candle, like a bird with broken wings. He wanted to go to her, but he found that he couldn't move.

He saw death in thousands of different forms, horrifying and strangely fascinating in its variety. Corpses, decay, and naked bones.

 _And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth,_ he thought grimly.

All apocalyptic plagues in his little corner of Earth.

"Is this the end of the world?" he heard himself asking.

"No. Just _a_ world. There is always some world ending."

Was it his world? Was his world ending? He had to admit, it didn't seem too improbable to him.

"Why are you showing me this?"

"So you can understand."

"Understand what?"

There was no answer this time, so he turned his head and looked at his guide, but he couldn't see his face under the hood.

"Who are you?" Ross asked.

"That depends."

"On what?"

"Who are you?"

He hesitated, not sure what was expected of him.

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Which one are you? Disease, war, famine, or death?"

"What? No, I…"

He looked around alarmed, suddenly comprehending what he was seeing: his three companions, dark, cloaked figures, him sitting on a horse in line with them, side by side, arm by arm…

Four horsemen.  
"No. That's not who I am," he protested.

"Who are you then?"

"My name is Ross Poldark," he said trying to make his voice strong, but it sounded weak in his own ears.

"And who is that?"

He hesitated again. How could he answer a question like that? Who was he? A nobleman? A mine owner? An heir to the patch of Cornwall land?

None of that sounded right, his titles meaningless and superficial, his names empty. There was nothing for him in them.

He searched for something other, something that would hold enough weight to mention.

"I'm a father and a husband," he said finally.

"Are you, though?"

"Of course I am."  
"Yet, your child is dead and your wife is dying," stated one of the strangers in a cool, leveled voice. "Misery and pain follow you. Whatever you touch, turns into ashes. You bring turmoil, conflict and heartbreak with you."

"That's not true."

"What is the truth, then?"

He found it hard to breath when he realized he had no idea what to say. His head was empty.

"I don't know."

"Who are you, Ross Poldark?"

And then, when he felt like he was about to suffocate, the wind picked up, carrying the words spoken in Demelza's voice with them.

 _…a good man._

As the breeze washed over him, Ross finally managed to catch a breath and it seemed like even the horsemen faltered. The spell was lifted, if only for a second.

He broke free and drifted away from the dark hill, leaving that particular nightmare.

* * *

 **Give me a crumb!**


	5. 4

**Are you ready for more?**

* * *

 _…_ _how bad is it?…_

 _…_ _that poor child…_

 _…_ _not much we can do…_

 _…_ _what about her?…_

 _…_ _wait and see if…_

Sound penetrated the fog in his mind first, before sight. He heard soft tones of a child's mumbled monologue, but he knew immediately it wasn't Julia. His vision focused more slowly and he looked around trying to gather his bearings. He felt awful: he had a splitting headache and his whole body felt strangely weak.

He saw that he was in his own bed in Nampara. Judging from the light filtering through the curtains it must have been early morning. What was strange, was that he found Geoffrey Charles sitting on the carpet and playing. Ross frowned, but not wanting to disturb the child's peace, he said nothing.

Just then the door opened and Jinny came in, clearly intending to collect the boy, but then her eyes stopped on Ross.

"Oh, sur, I didn't know y'were awake. I'll call dr. Enys right away…"

"No!" he stopped her. He took a deep breath. "I want to see my wife."

"Of course, sur," she said curtsying and scurried away.

When she left to fulfill his request without hesitation, Ross released a breath he didn't even know he had been holding. He had been afraid she might tell him his wife could't see him for reasons he'd rather not to ponder on.

Soon another woman stepped into the room and hurried to his side.

"Ross!" she said smiling. "I'm so glad you're awake, I was beginning to worry. How are you feeling?"

He quickly sat up and looked up at her confused. Something was not right.

"I'm fine," he said slowly. "Why were you worried about me?"

He wanted to ask her what she was doing there, but that would be rude, so he bit his tongue, though his uneasiness grew once more.

"You don't remember? You had an accident."

"An accident?"

"You fell from the horse and you were unconscious for quite some time. You gave us all a scare. I should probably ask Dwight to look at you…"

"Elisabeth," he said looking right at her. He couldn't hold back the question any longer, his anxiousness getting the better of him. "Where is Demelza?"

She looked at him surprised.

"Demelza? The kitchen maid? Why would you ask about her?"

"She's not my maid," he responded sharply.

For some reason his harsh reply only made her eyes soften and she smiled again.

"Of course," she said. "Not anymore."

"Where is she now?"

"With her father, I would imagine," Elisabeth frowned and her voice took a note of concern as she watched him closely.

"What?!" he sat up straighter at her words. "Why?"

"Ross, are you sure you're all right?" she asked. He shot her one of his dark stares she'd seen many times but wasn't used to be at receiving end of. "Demelza haven't been here for over a year, since we sent her away. Surely, you remember that?"

He shook his head slowly, more to clear it than anything else, but Elisabeth took it as an answer and covered her mouth with her hand while her eyes widened in shock. As for Ross, his mind was stuck on the word _we_.

Muddled images started to arise in his mind, confusing him even more.

"Why would I send her away?" he asked mechanically, his lips feeling numb.

He didn't hear her answer, though – he tuned her words out, overwhelmed by conflicting memories suddenly flooding his mind. It was like watching two different realities clashing.

He barely registered his friend's presence when the doctor entered the room and the exchange that followed.

"…it appears some of his memories are jumbled…"

He looked around wide-eyed.

He remembered the disease striking and taking its cruel tribute – he remembered getting caught up in a riot and falling from his horse during the fight…

He remembered taking off after Demelza once he had realized that her intention had been to go back to her father rather than simply getting some space and time away from him, and the sudden spike of fear the thought of her leaving had caused him, that day long ago, after the first night they had spent together – he remembered his angry outburst upon hearing Demelza's harsh comment toward his wife, criticizing the way she had been treating him, that had led him to express his wish for her to leave his house and her following the order literally and never coming back…

He remembered coming home from the war to find his father dead, his house in ruin and his fiancé getting married to his cousin – he remembered Elisabeth breaking off her engagement with Francis after finding out he was alive an marrying him instead…

He remembered…

"Something's wrong," he said not quite knowing who he was talking to. He felt like something was slipping away, something very important, but he couldn't stop it. "I want to see my family," he said suddenly.

"Your family? You mean who, Ross?" Elisabeth asked softly. "Francis? Verity?"

He rubbed his brows, trying to grasp at the rapidly vanishing images of another life. He had a feeling that if he could focus hard enough, he would be able to see the seams in reality.

"I mean my wife and my child," he said managing to anchor his thoughts to something solid in what seemed like the last possible moment before it too evaporated.

Elisabeth gave him a confused look.

"But, Ross… we're here…"

"No!" he raised his voice, his temper finally flaring. "You are not my wife. This," he pointed at Geoffrey Charles still playing in the corner, "is not my child!"

Elisabeth made a choked, shocked and hurt sound while Dwight looked at him with a concerned expression and stated that Ross "must have hit his head harder than they had thought."

He tried to get up, but his vision spun and he had to sit back to fight the sudden wave of nausea that rolled over him.

"I'll bring you something for the dizziness," Dwight said seeing his face suddenly turning green and he turned to leave the room.

" _I'll stay with him_ ," Elisabeth offered quickly.

" _No!_ " Ross protested. " _I don't want you. I want Demelza._ "

"But, Ross," Elisabeth said, her tone unexpectedly calm again. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

He glanced at her surprised by the cool smoothness of her voice, only to find her sitting in her chair with her hands folded neatly on her lap, all proper and polite as always. Somehow, her sudden composure seemed not less alarming to him than her agitation had been before. She saw him looking at her and smiled kindly at him.

"What you always wanted?"

He blinked.

He did… had wanted that. Once upon a time. Not anymore.

A thought that this might actually be real passed his mind and he found that the idea that this seemingly perfect world might be true horrified him to no end.

What would it mean if this was his life? What would he do then?

His mind wandered to Demelza, whom he could find and possible help, but who could never be his if he was in fact married to Elisabeth… Then another thought hit him even harder. If that other life had never happened…

"What about Julia?" he asked hoarsely.

Elisabeth's vacant stare was all the answer he needed to confirm his fear, as was the single word she uttered in response:

"Who?"

* * *

 **While Ross is busy trying to figure out what is going on and what's real and what's not, you can use the opportunity to share your thoughts on the chapter with me and leave a review!**


	6. 5

**It's time to leave Ross for a while and check up on Demelza. In a way, this chapter mirrors the last one, but with a twist.**

* * *

Waking up can be much more difficult than it seems. While Demelza was used to rising early her whole life and shaking off the sleep almost instantly, this time it didn't happen quickly. It felt like opening her eyes took the longest times in the world, as if she had to relearn how to move her muscles. Her eyelids seemed too heavy and her own body felt foreign.

Finally she forced herself to crack her eyes open. She blinked a few times as she adjusted to the light.

"Dr. Enys!" she heard someone calling. "She's waking up."

She turned toward the source of the voice and focused on the person at her side.

"Elisabeth?" she asked unsurely.

"Oh, Demelza. I'm so glad to hear your voice. You have no idea what a relief it is to see you lucid."

"But why…" she swallowed to moisten her scratchy throat. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard that you were sick and after what you did for us, coming here to watch over you was the least I could do."

She looked from her rival to the young doctor who had come into the room in the meantime. She was trying to make sense of the scene in front of her, but even more so than Elisabeth's unexpected presence, there was one element missing.

"Where is Ross?" she asked innocently.

Why wasn't he there?

She noticed the look exchanged between the two and the uncomfortable expression on Dwight's face before Elisabeth rushed to explain:

"He's asleep," she said smiling reassuringly, "but I'm sure he'd be overjoyed knowing you're awake."

Something was wrong. She could see it in their worried glances, their forced smiles, the tension in the air.

"You're not telling me something," she said. "What is it?"

Dwight sighed and Elisabeth's smile faltered.

Demelza waited anxiously for their reply. What could it be? Why was Ross not there? He was supposed to be the one with her when she woke up!

Irrational thoughts and fears raced through her mind:

Was he angry with her? Maybe he didn't want to see her? But why? What reason could he possibly have…

 _How about bringing the disease to the house?_ – a malicious voice whispered in her head.

The thought crossed her mind only for a second before she chased it away as absurd. Ross would never abandon her in need like that, no matter what.

Where was he then, though? If he was, indeed, asleep, why didn't they wake him? What would be important enough to keep him away?

Was something wrong with Julia?

Her heart constricted at the last thought.

"It's bad, isn't it?" she asked quietly, dread slowly settling in her stomach like a lead ball.

"Why don't you rest some more before we talk and let us take care of everything for you until you get better?" Elisabeth said in gentle, soothing tones. "You don't need any more worries on your mind. All you need to focus on right now is…"

"Elisabeth," Dwight interrupted. "She needs to know."

"I know. I just think that Demelza should have a chance to recover before…"

"Elisabeth," he called softly again and words died on Elisabeth's lips. "We have to tell her."

"Tell me what?" Demelza asked alarmed looking back and forth between the two. "What happened?"

Elisabeth looked pleadingly at the doctor, and it only made Demelza more afraid of the answer. Next words spoken didn't placate her either:

"He needs her," Dwight said looking at Elisabeth with sadness in his eyes. "He needs her _now_."

Elisabeth's shoulders fell defeated and no one said anything for a while. It was a heavy, ominous silence.

Demelza licked her dry lips.

"What…" she started.

And then she heard it: a vile, dreaded sound coming from somewhere within the house – a dry cough, so similar to the one that had been bothering her at the earlier stage of the disease.

It made her blood freeze in her veins.

* * *

 **So... as you know, answers are often followed by more question, but I think this time I gave you enough to start speculating.**

 **Thanks for anyone who is reading! Remember, reviews make for faster updates (it's not a ploy, it's a fact).**


	7. 6

**Hi! Sorry it took me so long, but I'm back with a long chapter! Enjoy!**

* * *

"…I suppose, in the end, he did waste his life away."

Ross looked up, startled by the sound of a somewhat familiar voice, but before he could fully grasp on the topic of the conversation, the voice faded, as if the person talking walked away from him.

He pressed his fingers to his forehead and took a deep breath trying to concentrate, before stepping out of the darkened corner in the corridor and looking around. He didn't know how long he had been standing there or even how he had got there. Was it another dream? It was getting harder and harder to keep track of them and to tell the difference between what actually happened and what was just a vision, and he was acutely aware of how alarming that thought was.

Another voice approaching brought him out of his reverie. He recognized Ruth Treneglos' irritating timbre immediately. He wondered whatever had happened to the girl that had made her so sour and spiteful?

"…a shame, really. He was, after all, still young. One has to wonder, though, if he didn't bring it on himself. All I'm saying is, none of this would have happened if he hadn't let this little wench he called a wife into his house, would it? I heard that she was first to fall sick – no doubt having caught it from one of her kind, dirty rats they are…"

He spun on his heel hearing yet more voices, another scrap of conversation catching his attention, and he came face to face with a small group of men talking quietly among themselves – his business partners from the Carnmore Copper Company.

"…a man with a vision. He was probably the only one who could make it happen, despite being such a risk-taker. Without him, without someone like him… I'm afraid we'll never be able to rebuild this dream now. It's hard to come across someone with this lever of bravery and determination these days…"

He walked past the group and looked around intrigued, seeing more and more people gathered around different spots in the house – most of them familiar to him, though not all of them who he would call his friends exactly. No one paid him any attention as he wandered around them, so he could watch and listen uninterrupted.

"…what will happen to us now? I'm telling you, whoever takes over won't care about the miners. Minimal wages is all we can count on, if that…"

"Was it true what they say about him and his cousin's wife?…"

"…I hate to say that, but maybe it's for the best. We do not need a rebellion on our hands and he was always creating problems. Got burnt by his own fire, I suppose…"

"…The whole family is strange. I'm not saying they don't have a good, old name, but you have to admit that it seems like they're doing everything in their power to ruin it, him being the wildest of them: one gamblin away the family fortune, the other one running away with the wife-killer… and don't get me even started on _his_ antics... Getting himself from one scandalous affair to the other. And that wife of his? If old Charles could see that…"

"Did you see? She's wearing the same dress _again!_ "

"…who's going to inherit the house?"

He takes in the hushed tones, solemn faces, dark, elegant clothes – so much silk, shoals, black lace – and he knows that he's looking at the mourners who had come his house to pay their respects, only this time most of them were the upper class society, not his tenants.

A thought nagged at the back of his mind – why were they here? Had he invited them? Surely, he wouldn't… He didn't have anything to offer them, he couldn't play the host… Was that why they ignored him, why they were not even looking at him…?

He stopped when he spotted Elisabeth, very pale and with dark shadows under her eyes, next to Francis whose face seemed to be frozen in permanent shock. Neither of them seemed to notice his presence. For a second, he thought that Francis saw him, when his face flashed with anger, but then he realized that his cousin was looking past him at someone else and turned to look over his shoulder, only to find Verity and her husband standing a few steps behind him.

"You have a nerve to show up here," Francis hissed marching toward her.

"Francis, please," she said quietly. "Now is not the time nor place for this. Must you cause a scene at the funeral?"

"Me? It's you coming here that will cause everyone to gossip. I must say, Verity, I thought you'd have enough sense to avoid a scandal for once, considering the circumstances. I thought you cared for him enough to understand that you should restrain yourself this one day."

He couldn't quite grasp at the sense of the exchange, not at all surprised by the hostility between the siblings, but unsure as to why Francis seemed to keep himself so restrained.

"I'm here _because_ I cared for him!"

Ross noticed that Verity's eyes were rimmed red and he wanted to come to her defense, but he found himself strangely powerless to take any kind of action.

"Don't pretend like you have any kind of family loyalty," Francis snapped and walked out of the hall quickly, with Elisabeth hot on his heels. Ross followed them to the main room without any conscious thought.

Inside, he saw even more people, but also an unusual change of décor. The furniture had been pushed to the walls to make space in the center, which was now occupied by a long table, where one would expect to find a meal served for the guests.

Instead, there was an open coffin. There were flowers adorning it – and not the wildflowers Demelza used to bring from her walks, but the strongly-smelling hothouse flowers - occupying every free surface around it.

Ross closed in slowly intrigued, the deep luster of polished wood pulling him like a magnet. With every step, the view of the figure resting in the box revealed itself to him, inch by inch. Finally, he stood by the table and looked down. It didn't even come as as much as a shock as it should be, when he realized that he was staring down at his own face.

 _Am I dead?_ – he thought, strangely indifferent. _Is it what it all is about? All these dreams?_

He studied his dead body with clinical curiosity. He took in the stillness of the body, dressed in his best clothes, the lifeless face with a familiar scar marring waxy-pale cheek ( _finally toned down from its usual too-dark-for-polite-society-standards complexion – he thought fleetingly_ ) and closed eyes ( _he'd never seen himself with his eyes closed before_ ). It was an odd sensation, seeing himself like this. He recognized the face, of course, but he didn't feel any kind of real connection to the person laid before his eyes, though he didn't doubt for a second it was him. It was like looking at the stranger.

 _Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing,_ he found himself thinking resignedly. _After all, what's the point of staying here all alone? Wouldn't be that much more of a nightmare?_

He looked over his shoulder once more to take in the sight of the guests crowding the room, now realising that they where here for him, to pay their respects. He found some dark amusement at the fact that his eyes landed on George Warleggan, who stood awkwardly in the corner with a thoughtful and slightly lost expression on his face.

 _He probably doesn't know what to do with himself now that he's clearly lost the purpose in his life with me gone and hence beyond his tormenting reach_ , Ross thought before glancing again at the black coffin.

He was almost at peace at the thought of turning away and leaving ( _where to? - he didn't know)_ when a commotion from somewhere deeper within the house caught his attention. He heard people starting to shuffle and whispering between themselves and then…

" _Ross!_ " a desperate cry.

The voice cut though him, hitting him square in the chest. He turned around at lightning speed, his eyes wide in anticipation of seeing her.

" _Where is he?_ " he heard the question that followed, quieter, but no less painful.

"Demelza, wait…" _Dwight_ , he recognized.

"Where is he?!"

He saw her then, bolting into the room and stopping abruptly in the doorway, frozen in horror at the sight.

Had no one told her? How was that possible?

She was a mess. Her fiery hair was wild and tangled, her face very pale and she looked like she had only just got out of bed – she was wearing an old, loose nightshirt, which was really one of his shirts, too big for her, and with the way it was hanging on her, he could see that she was even thinner than usually. It occurred to him that she _had_ just woken up, but not from a regular dream – she'd been sick and unresponsive for days and this was probably the first time she was awake after the fewer broke. His gaze dropped lower and his heart broke at the sight of her bare feet.

She didn't scream. She just stared ahead, wide-eyed and shook her head wordlessly, her lips moving as if she was saying _No_ , again and again, but no sound coming out. She pressed her palm to the center of her chest and she gasped as if she couldn't breathe.

Suddenly, she broke into a run, but she passed him without noticing him, and rushed straight to the coffin. He watched helplessly as she grabbed cold, gloved hands that used to belong to him with her smaller, warm ones and gripped them for dear life. A sob wracked her body.

"Shhhh…" he hushed, not really believing that she would hear him anymore, but feeling the need to do something. "It's all right."

He tried to put his hands on her shoulders in a comforting gesture, but while he could still feel her, she obviously couldn't feel him. Then, finally reclaiming her voice, she looked up at the dead face in front of her and choked with more hurt than he'd ever heard from her:

"How could you?" He noticed the stares and more shocked whispers followed. He felt himself boiling with anger and impotent need to protect her from them. What was wrong with these people to feel the need to _gossip_ upon seeing someone facing death in the family? "How could you do this to me?"

He felt shame and guilt filling him at the thought that he had failed her, his previous peace of mind shattered and forgotten.

"I'm so sorry, my love," he said sincerely.

He would have gladly given his life in exchange for hers, but seeing her suffer was tearing him apart. Sadness filled him as he watched her crying and he looked around desperately for someone who would help her, take her away from there, do something. It was maddening not to be able to sooth her with a word or touch when she needed it so much.

He was relieved to see Dwight stepping into the room with a worried expression on his face. The man took one glance at the situation and hurried to Francis' side, telling him something in a low voice. Ross felt grateful when it resulted in Francis moving around the room to usher the crowd toward the door and clear the room. He watched Dwight walking hesitantly toward Demelza and stopping a few steps away from her.

"I am truly sorry that I wasn't able to save him," he said. "He was my friend and I wish I could have done more."

"It's my fault," Demelza whispered almost inaudibly. "If I had not gone to Trenwith... If I had asked you to go instead of going there myself… if I had been more careful… told Ross right away that I had been there… washed myself and burned my clothes like you two had done when you after breaking Jim out of prison…"

It was killing him, all over again, to hear her saying that.

"No," he muttered wrapping his arms around her, without her having any way of knowing that he was holding her. "No, God, no, Demelza..."

He found himself once again grateful to his friend when he heard him saying:

"You mustn't think like that. This was nobody's fault."

They were quiet for a few seconds.

"I don't understand," Demelza said breaking the silence. "He wasn't sick."

He looked at Dwight, eager to hear the explanation as well.

"Not at first, no. You probably don't remember, since you had really high fewer, but he was watching over you at the beginning."

"What happened?"

"While he cared for you… I was looking after Julia," Dwight started talking slowly in a low voice. "Despite my best efforts, she was taking a turn to the worst, so I called Ross and told him about my concerns. At that point, I was sure there was no hope for her. He took her from me and said that he wasn't going to let her be afraid."

"Oh, Ross," she breathed reaching with a shaking hand for his face to caress it. She sounded so brokenly it made him want to destroy something.

"He was determined to stay with her to the end, so I left them alone to give him a chance to say goodbye to her. That was the last time I really talked to him."

"What do you mean?"

"He held her for hours. Your condition seemed as stable as one could hope for at the time, and I didn't want to intrude, so it wasn't until next morning I checked on him. I found them… both asleep, him sitting in the chair with her snuggled against his chest. I think they stayed like this the whole night. I couldn't believe my eyes, but the girl was not only not dead, but better than in the evening. It seemed like a miracle… as if he kept her alive by sheer stubbornness, feeding her with his own life-force… but… he was sick. Very sick. Burning up and unaware of his surroundings. He didn't want to let go of her and I don't think he even recognised me – I had to pry her out of his arms. I'm not sure why, but the disease progressed very fast. He died quickly after that, never really waking up enough to talk lucidly."

Ross listened to the story in wonderment.

 _Julia?_ Julia was alive…?

His heart picked up its pace, which was ironic considering in reality it was no longer beating.

"He loved her," Demelza said softly, her voice thick with tears. She stroked his face again and ran her fingers along his combed back hair tenderly.

"He loved you too," Dwight assured her, but his voice sounded strangely muted to Ross' ears.

Suddenly a chill ran down his spine and he looked around alarmed, anxiety growing in the pit of his stomach.

 _It's time_ – a thought struck him out of nowhere.

He wanted to continue listening to the conversation, but he was forced to refocus by growing coldness creeping up on his phantom body. His senses were failing him, both his vision and hearing getting rapidly foggy, as if he was watching everything from a distance, but the worst part came when he realized that he could no longer feel Demelza's skin under his fingertips that were quickly numbing.

 _Ross._

"No, wait!" he said, though he didn't even know who he was talking to.

Was it the dream fading away, or was it him? Was he waking up, or dying?

"I was wrong! This is wrong!"

 _Come back._

The idea of just melting into nothingness didn't seem to hold any appeal all at once. He wasn't scared of dying – or so he was telling himself – but he no longer wished to leave now that he knew his family was alive, when he had something to live for.

Not that it looked like he had any choice in the matter. He could feel an invisible force pulling him away.

"Stop! Stop it! I don't want to… I can't leave them!"

 _Come back to me._

"I'm not ready!"

...

 _Ross!_

* * *

 **This chapter was hard to write for me, so I hope it turned out okay.**

 **In case you're wondering about the closing lines and the title of the story, no, it wasn't planned from the beginning (I didn't see this scene coming when I started writing this story) - t** **he idea of the title comes from the scene in the show when Ross was talking to Demelza while she was sick (right after his conversation with Elisabeth, if I remember correctly).**


	8. 7

**I know it's very brief and extremely AU - I'm not quite pleased with how it turned out, but I felt it was needed (for some reason). Anyway, enjoy! (I hope)**

* * *

His mind was spinning with images and voices whirling around him, coming and going faster and faster, until they became a blur.

He saw himself as an outstandingly successful investor and as a destitute, bitter drunkard. He saw himself live and thrive. He saw himself die million deaths.

The events flickered before his eyes, faces of loved ones and people he never met. Future and past, memories and dreams, intricate sagas of passion, struggle and loss. He tried to shut his eyes to stop them from flooding his mind, but it was no use. The visions sparkled and danced, dazzling him to the point where he could no longer tell where one ended and the other started.

"What are these?" he voiced a question without any real hope that he would get an answer and started when it came to him anyway, though he had no idea where from:

 _Mistakes avoided. Chances not taken. Choices not made._

 _Children not born. Stories untold. Future unknown._

"How can I tell what's the truth? How do I know which one of them are real?"

 _Which one would you like to be?_

"The one where they don't die," he stated flatly.

 _All of them are true._

He let the meaning sink in for a moment, and even though he wanted to say that he didn't understand, he found unexpectedly, that somehow, someway, some part of him did.

Even so, he argued: "Not for me. I belong only in one of them. What happened there? Where I came from? How do I come back?"

 _Do you want to go back?_

"Yes."

 _Then you have to find the right one._

Ross shifted uneasily at the thought of possibly looking through thousands of realities before finding the one he called his own. Would he even remember what his own life was like at the time he finally sees the glimpse of it, after dozing himself in so many incarnation? Would he be still able to tell the difference, to choose correctly? Would he recognise the right one when he stumbles upon it, or would he walk past it and become trapped between the worlds forever?

Suddenly, an idea struck him as a bolt of lightning. The thought was both terrifying and exhilarating at once.

"What if I choose wrong?" he asked. "Would it make me unable to move on? Is that where I get to stay?"

He realized his mistake the second the words left his mouth. He gave himself away by saying "get to" instead of "have to".

"I'm right, am I not?" he whispered, his voice full of desperate, feverish hope. "I could come back to somewhere else. It can be changed. Please, let me change it! Just this one time! No one has to know! No one would even notice!"

 _All the things you have or haven't done have led you to this point. You could have chosen differently. That's the way to change things – before they happen._

"But have they? Have they already happened? I'm choosing now!"

 _And what are you choosing?_

"For them to live."

 _What if there is a price?_

"I'll pay it. Whatever it might be."

 _Even if it would cost you your own life? Would you be ready to sacrifice it for them?_

Ross laughed harshly.

"My life for theirs? Of course."

 _You said you weren't ready_.

He stilled, comprehension finally dawning on him. He swallowed and took a deep breath.

When he spoke again, his voice was steady:

"I'm ready now."

And with that, white heat exploded in every cell of his body.

* * *

 **Only one more to go.**


	9. 8

**Pheeew... It took a while, but it's finally done - and by 'it' I mean the story. Here it is, the last chapter - I hope it doesn't disappoint.**

* * *

Ross wasn't sure how one was supposed to feel when they were dead, but somehow 'thirsty' didn't seem to be quite what he had expected. He could also feel weariness like a weight sitting on his chest and spreading to his limbs, but unpleasant as it was, none of those symptoms sounded like a fitting description for a corpse.

 _At least I still have got limbs_ , he thought attempting to make some sense of his situation.

It could be, of course, that he was in hell, but if that was the case, his punishment seemed oddly light. Purgatory, then? Still not what he would have imagined.

When he made a test of moving his toes and fingers and they responded, he decided to try and open his eyes. His glance slid across the shadows dancing on the walls and then halted abruptly on the old chair near the bed, stopped by the sight of the young woman resting upon it; his gaze captured by the flash of bright colour that was her hair. She was facing away from him, looking at the window, but he recognized her anyway and instantly felt much more awake, for this time the woman watching over him was the one he wanted to see at his side.

"…melza," he said, but his dry throat trapped his voice, making it fail completely on the first syllable and brake in a scratchy, uneven sound on the rest of them.

All the same, she turned her head quickly and a smile as bright as the sun itself lit up her face.

She looked tired and unrested, as if she had not had a proper night sleep in a few days. She was pale and thin, with worry etched deeply into her features and dark circles under her eyes and it was clear that she had long given up on any attempts to tame the mess that were her wild, tangled curls.

She had never been more beautiful.

"Ross," she said with so much joy and wonder that it made his heart beat stronger in response. " _Ross._ "

They simply stared at each other for several seconds, her smiling continuously and him desperately trying not to blink.

He wanted to sit up and go to her, but he found that his whole body felt heavy and even lifting his head was an effort.

"Well, that's pathetic," he managed to mutter under his breath after swallowing a few times.

"What is?" she asked with a gentle amusement.

"I'm too weak to get up and kiss you."

She moved quickly and fluidly like a cat and in the next moment she was on the bed next to him.

"You don't need to," she said before leaning down to press her mouth to his. He let his mind relax and pushed away every thought that didn't include the taste and feel of her.

"Is this real?" he whispered against her lips. "Or is this another dream?"

 _Please, let it not be a dream._

"It's real, Ross," her voice soothed him almost as much as her fingers combing through his hair.

"Are you sure?" he questioned anxiously. He knew he was worrying her with his inquiries, but couldn't help asking.

"Yes. I promise."

He swallowed again to wet his throat before speaking again – this time to let out a blurred half-statement, half-question: "I'm not dead?"

Her eyes watered and she had to close them for a moment to steady herself, but when she opened them, she smiled again at him, maybe even brighter than before.

"No," she said softly and he could hear the magnitude of her relief at the fact wrapped in that single, short word. "You're not."

With that, she kissed him once more, slowly, seeking a way to express the feelings that were threatening to overwhelm her and reassurance that he was, indeed, alive and getting better, as his mouth moved against hers with ease.

She felt him sigh and she broke away to look at the man before her – the man who was not only her lover and husband, but who also had been the founding element of her world for so long.

She took in the sharpness of his cheekbones and the unhealthy tone of his skin, so unusual for him. The illness had taken its toll on him, but he had fought it successfully, though not without coming dangerously close to the edge. His eyes drifted closed and his face settled into a serene expression she had not seen on it since the night the whole ordeal had started. Her stomach constricted at the very thought of trying to imagine her life without him.

"I knew you'd come back," she said stroking his cheek affectionately. There was something in both the trust in her voice and her choice of words that struck him.

He licked his lips and she frowned realizing that he must be parched.

"'ere," she said getting up quickly. "I'll bring you something to drink."

His eyes shot open alarmed, as if he was afraid of her leaving, but he calmed down when he saw that she merely walked to the other side of the room to pour him a cup of water someone had left there probably precisely with that purpose in mind.

Ross managed to drag himself into a more upright position so he would not spill the water when Demelza handed the cup to him. She took a place on the mattress next to him.

He drank greedily. Once he was done, his mind cleared some more and he remembered the visions that had been haunting him for the last… how long could it have been, anyway?… and how real they still felt to him.

"I don't understand," he said. "Why am I still alive?"

"I don't think this is something to complain about," Demelza said rather sharply. "I, for one, am pleased that you're not dead."

"That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean?"

"I thought I had to choose."

She leaned forward, furrowing her eyebrows at the lost look on his face.

"To choose? Choose what?"

"I thought I had to die."

"Why in the Lord's name would you think that?"

"For you."

She froze.

"Ross? My dear, dear Ross, what are you talking about?" she touched his forehead with the back of her hand, concerned that the fever might have returned, but his temperature seemed normal and his eyes stared back at her lucidly. "Are you feeling well?"

He shook his head, knowing how confused he must have been making her, but he was struggling to make sense of everything himself. His memories of the last few days were foggy at best and he still wasn't sure what exactly had happened. For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to just dismiss the muddled images from his dreams.

"I've been told that I must choose if I want to save what I hold dearest," he said in a faraway tone that made a chill run down Demelza's spine. "It was pretty clear to me that it would require a sacrifice."

"Who told you that?" she asked smoothing back his hair.

He laughed startling her.

"The voice in my head," he said quirking his eyebrow at her before adding gently: "I know how it sounds, Demelza. It didn't feel like nothing, though."

She toyed with his hair some more before asking another question: "And what did that voice say to you?"

"It asked me if I was ready to give up my life for you. I thought it meant that only one of us could live."

"Were you?" she asked, her voice tender, already sensing the answer. She knew him – this bold, idealistic, hot-headed man, equally prideful and stubborn at times. So brave… so reckless… so close to heart with all his flaws. So easy to love.

"What?"

"Were you ready?"

"Yes," he said looking her in the eye, because, what was the point of hiding the truth?

She gave him a watery smile. It took him a moment to understand her meaning when she said: "Maybe that was enough."

He blinked.

Could it really be that simple? Was that all it took?

Suddenly, her face sobered and she smacked him on the arm scowling.

"My love?"

"What in the world were you thinking? Don't you _dare_ leaving me, Ross Poldark! Judas! You scared the living daylights out of me!"

Ross looked at her pointedly. He was sure that he hadn't dreamed up her illness.

"You're one to talk."

She breathed in and out, calming down as she realized that he had a point.

"Let's just try not to do that again, shall we?" he said with a hint of a smile and she nodded mutely. He opened his mouth as he noticed that her hands were trembling, but just when he was about to say something, he heard a child's distinct wail and his head whipped toward the door. His whole body went rigid and his head spun. The time stopped.

 _Please_ , he thought again. _Please let it be real._

He waited with bated breath, his hands fisted in the bed covers, as he watched Demelza, unaware of his anguish, stand up and make her way toward the door even before it opened to reveal Jinny with a fussing infant in her arms. Ross could almost feel the quake as the ripple went through the fabric of reality and the world shifted on its very axis.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am… Sur!" Jinny paused for a moment, pleasantly surprised to see the master of the house wide awake. "I think she might be hungry…"

But Ross didn't hear what she said next, nor did he notice the genuine expression of joy on the servant's face at his recovery. All he had eyes and ears for was the little girl squirming in the maid's hold and the fact that nobody except of him seemed to be surprised by her presence.

 _No one would even notice,_ he remembered the reasoning behind his desperate plea.

Suddenly, the child's lively eyes landed on him and widened. He stared back, afraid to blink.

"Da!" the girl called out happily and loudly, almost managing to jump out of her caretaker's arms as she unexpectedly stretched her entire body toward him. Her little hands opened and fisted a few times trying to reach for him.

"Bring her to me," Ross said in a low, hoarse voice. It wasn't a request.

He needed to touch her. He needed to hold her. He needed to…

…breathe.

Demelza took one glance at him and quickly took the girl from Jinny.

"Thank you, Jinny," she said. "You can go now. I'll talk to you later."

She turned without sparing another word and carried the impatient child toward the bed. The heightened emotions would have probably been enough to make it easy for him to beat his weakness and get up and come to her, but he was so overwhelmed that he forgot how to move.

He watched in stunned, ecstatic silence as his wife made her way toward him with their daughter in her arms. He prayed every step she took that they were not a mirage conjured by his tortured mind.

"Did you miss daddy?" he foggily heard Demelza's warm voice asking Julia. "Is that why you cried?"

Demelza sat the child on his lap, but the girl lost her balance and fell forward onto his chest, giggling when he caught her, finally shaking himself out of his statue-like state.

It seemed that Demelza's guess as for the reason for Julia's foul mood was right, or maybe Ross' presence simply distracted her from her previous displeasure, because as soon as the little girl found herself in her father's arms, she calmed down and immediately started some half-gibberish tale, looking quite content with the situation.

Ross hugged her, first gingerly, acutely aware just how precious cargo he was holding, then tighter when his high-strung emotions took the better of him. He nuzzled his face in her soft hair, greedily breathing in her scent. He felt the mattress compressing and he guessed that Demelza joined them on the bed, but he didn't look up to confirm his guess, not yet. He couldn't look away.

"I thought…" he started but the choked on the end of the sentence and stopped himself from finishing it. _No one has to know_ – his own voice echoed in his mind and in a split second he made a decision: He would never say another word about that. For once, he would not ask questions. He wasn't sure what happened and he was probably never going to find out, but he was fine with that. This might be the biggest mystery of his life – the secret that he would take to his grave – but for once, Ross Poldark was fine with letting go. It didn't matter how Julia was alive – he didn't need to understand. "I wasn't sure if she…" he tried again instead, despite everything wishing to explain to Demelza how he was feeling.

She rested her head on his shoulder and wrapped one arm around both of them, her warm body pressed against his side. It felt to him as if the heat emanating from both of his girls was unfreezing an icy ball that had been settled low in his stomach.

"She's fine," Demelza said rubbing her hand against his ribs in a soothing motion. "Everything is fine."

It wasn't long before she felt him press a kiss to the crown of her head and then resting his cheek against it, but it was only when she felt hot wetness seeping into her hair when she realized that he was crying. She didn't react outwardly otherwise than starting humming softly one of her tunes, wisely deciding that the best she could do was to let them all soak in the reassurance this peaceful moment had to offer. She didn't count the seconds that passed after that, as they all lay there, Julia being the most active one, but luckily not expecting much response from her parents. Perhaps she was just happy to have both of them with her after the hectic time that was the past week or so. She might have not known what had been going on, but she probably could have sensed the dread that have been hanging over the house as well as the fact that it was finally gone.

"I love you. So much," Ross said breaking the silence, his voice thick but strong with conviction. "Both of you."

Demelza looked up at him and smiled.

"We love you too," she said simply.

He rearranged his arms so he could include Demelza in his embrace. It was a perfect moment and he wanted to memorize it so he would always remember the true importance of things.

He knew that things were not going to be easy, by any means: he felt like dead warmed over, his finances were in a grave condition thanks to his own cousin's betrayal and he'd made an enemy of the most powerful man in the area. And yet, as he looked down at the two girls in his arms, he knew with absolute certainty that never before had he been as happy as he was in that precise moment.

 _Thank you_ , he thought squeezing his eyes shut.

Out of the million lives, this was the one he would choose every single time.

* * *

 **It's over! What can I say? I'm a sucker for happy endings. Sorry if it was too sappy.**

 **Thank you for reading. Please, let me know how you liked it.**


End file.
